


In The Mood For Love

by ariesconcepts (WomanKings)



Category: Moonlight (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Fluff, M/M, Modern Royalty, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-03-06 03:51:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18843055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WomanKings/pseuds/ariesconcepts
Summary: For six years, Sir Kevin, a disgraced knight, has been away from the public eye. He returns to noble society, to the life he used to know only to find that everything has changed. In the midst of old friends, old enemies, Kevin finds the one person he missed the most—Chiron, who has secrets of his own.





	1. Masquerade!

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, but now it's like, back for real and I won't take it down any more because I'm finally satisfied with this. As per always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!

There wasn’t much of anything out on the side road. A service station, abandoned save for one mean-eyed attendant, stood out bright and fluorescent against the dark of night. The sky, clear and starry, hung down over the highway, the stretch of trees that acted as a sound barrier and a host of weary travellers gathered around a Greyhound bus. The bus rumbled idly, mostly empty, and waited for its driver and passengers to return.

About an hour ago, three-fourths of a way through the night trip to New York, the bus driver announced to his fifteen or so passengers that he needed to take a leak. The passengers, cold, tired and aching from the rough upholstery, either curled deeper into their blankets or shot up from their seats, eager to stretch their legs. The latter congregated outside in formless groups, walking in circles and rubbing their arms. Some of the travellers stood near the rest stop, filling up on chips and snack cakes, smoking in lieu of conversation. Others huddled near the bus bundled tightly in winter coats, bouncing and milling around aimlessly to keep warm. A cloud of conversation, blue with tobacco, white with cold, rose above their heads. Perfect strangers, emboldened by exhaustion and shared space, they busied themselves with talk of their homes, their destinations and relatives. They told each other what they might do, what they might see and who they might meet when they finally got here or there. A man hugged himself and kicked at piles of brown slush. A mother gently chided her child for drifting too far.

Away from the other passengers and their bubble of comforting noise stood a young man. There was nothing extremely compelling about him. He was dressed as they were, winter clothes, a pair of gloves, a scarf wrapped around his neck. The man stood flush against the metal of the bus, overwarm and anxious. His hand shook as he distractedly clicked at the white lighter he held, unextraordinary save for his initials (K.J.) engraved into the enamel and the thin gold lining around the edges. A cigarette dangled precariously from his lips, but he did not light it. He only flicked at the light, again and again thumbing the spark wheel and flashing the orange-yellow flame. After a while, he returned to himself, steadied his hand and brought the flame to the tip of cigarette.

He shouldn’t smoke. It was one of Kevin’s many vices, but he kept at it, unwilling to part with it after so long. He had few comforts over the years. Stale, cheap cigarettes and striking matches—it was relaxing to stand in the cold with the burn of nicotine in his mouth,the strain burning his lungs. The knot of nerves in his belly was beginning to unspool. He dropped his shoulders. Rolled his head in a circle. Muttered meaningless affirmations to himself, talking just to make noise.

This wasn’t the type of fear that could be be easily beaten. It was deep set, learned, and though Kevin was a knight by honor (his Kings’ Medals were earned, not passed down or given), bravery was still something that had to be worked at. He looked around at all the other passengers. He doubted any of them knew his face what with him being such a minor rank in the gentry. He was certain, though, that nearly all of them could remember his crimes. Trust the people to forget the face, the name, but always, even in absence, recall the sins.

It all felt like a trick, like one really elaborate prank. Even so far from Florida, Kevin could scarcely believe that he was out of prison, out of exile and back in formal society. The letter was somewhere in his bag, smooth and white, the royal seal broken carefully. It said that the State was apologetic for the mistake they’ve made and for any amount of distress they may have caused him. They were deeply sorry about the miscarriage of justice, the extended prison sentence, the years and years of no connection to the outside world. They were sorry, said the government, and if he so pleased, he could leave prison immediately and return to noble society. His record was expunged, his slate wiped clean; he could be a knight again, a real knight, and everyone involved would be allowed to move on and pretend as if this most terrible accident (ha!) never happened

Kevin scoffed. What a joke, he thought, but deeper down he did wonder if he didn’t deserve it in some way. It was karma, plain and simple. What went around came around, knocked him flat on his ass and beat him senseless. A memory flashed in his mind—a blackened eye, a mouth all cut and bruised, a nose pouring blood like a faucet. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Only when the bus driver called for boarding did Kevin leave his memories. He shook it off, the chill, the nerves, and examined what remained of his cigarettes. He tucked the rest into his breast pocket and crushed the still smoking stub beneath his sneaker. The crowd pulled in, pushing and pulling, and Kevin allowed himself to get swept up in it.

On the bus, squeezed tight between the window and another snoring passenger, Kevin drifted in and out of sleep. His dreams were grey, unpleasant. He saw only early morning beaches, sands littered with bloody tissues and beached sea life. Seagulls screeched ugly and loud above him and colorless seashells bit at his soles. A nightbird with dark and strangely human eyes dipped down low and called him name in a familiar voice. When he woke sweating and panting, he was surprised to find that many hours had passed. They were in New York.

Kevin hopped off the bus, took up his luggage, walked through the overly-bright bus depot and emerged on the other side. New York cold was a shock to the system after a lifetime in Miami. He shivered, rubbed his hands together and stuffed them into his coat pockets. He looked at the people passing by, the taxis and Ubers and city buses. He looked up into the night sky, starless, clotted with smoke and smog. It frightened him a little to think that the same sky that hung over him in Miami was the same sky that hung over him now, changed but still the same, ever as it always was and would be.

Someone crashed into him, their elbow catching them hard as they passed by. Punishment for standing in the flow of traffic, he guessed. Kevin cut his eyes at the rough walkers, but did nothing in response to them. He only just came back to the real world, and didn’t want to be tossed right back out on account of a lack of manners. Hadn’t all that time away taught him some virtues? Self control? Graciousness? Forgiveness? Patience?

 _Barely_ , though Kevin bitterly. All that time in jail and for what? To come out the same, damaged and world-weary, lonelier than ever? There was solitary that one time and the long list of infractions for things he didn’t do. There was hours and hours of waiting, staring out of the window, pushing slop in the kitchen, just anticipating freedom. And even while Kevin felt sorry for himself, he felt clean too. Every year, every second of misery was another year of penance for what he’d done, for what he allowed to happen. In his mind, he was not paying for anything so silly as drug possession. No, Kevin was paying for something deeper, something outside the lines of the law. No one else to know the price of his atonement. Only him. Only his heart.

Kevin stood there for a while longer, deep in thought. He had some vague idea of what to do —call a ride, find a place to stay for the night—but it all seemed so much now that he was out. He was seconds away from going back into the depot to buy a metrocard when a voice, Floridian and familiar, cut through the static and called his name.

“Kevin!”

He turned and immediately he saw the caller. For a moment, all the sorrow lifted off his chest. He ran to a petite woman dressed warmly, threw open his arms and swept her into a firm hug.

It’d been years since he’d seen Teresa’s face. He knew her from his childhood when she was an au pair transported from Miami. His memories of her were sweet and positive, and they’ve only gotten better over the years. When all other letters had slowed down, Teresa was the one who kept writing to him. She sent him money and notes and clippings from the newspapers, sent news about his son and his mother’s passings. When Kevin was made to miss her funeral, Teresa was kind enough to show up in person and sit across from him quietly, serenely while he cried through the glass. To see her in the flesh again was like seeing a dream. He beamed down at her.

“What are you doing here?” Kevin asked, still smiling.

“Come to pick you up, of course! Thought I’d let you wander around the city?”

Kevin shrugged, slipped his bag onto his shoulder. “Thought I’d have to take a taxi to somewhere.”

“To where?” Teresa scoffed. “Boy, you don’t have a lick of sense. Where was you gonna sleep? A bench?”

“A motel,” said Kevin. Or whatever people sleep in up here.”

Teresa rolled her eyes and pointed Kevin in the direction of a sleek, black car just off the curb. Privately, Kevin observed the car, admiring the tinted windows and spotless paint. They slipped into the car with help from a jittery, little chauffeur. Once they were in the backseat, Teresa turned to him, grasping his hand.

“There’s a lot I’ve got to tell you. So much has changed.”

“I’ve seen,” Kevin said. “All them newspaper stories. Did that chick from ‘Suits’ _really_ marry the prince?”

Teresa nodded. “And the Princess of Washington is betrothed to some banking guy from Italy, and the housing market is a mess, and there’s half a million big scandals going on right now. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean on a smaller scale. Noble stuff.”

“Is it bad?”

She tipped her head from side to side. “Yes and no. Some of it is, some of it isn’t. After the market crashed, everyone’s just been scrambling for a position. Anybody can buy a spot on the senate, or grease enough hands to be called a lord or lady.” She shook her head, revolved, but then she slipped into a coy smile. “A lot of good people are in power though too.”

A chill went up Kevin’s spine. “What kind of people?”

“ _Good_ people. People you know.”

“Is he—”

Teresa put up a hand. “I won’t say.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes then said, “But I _will_ say that he’s here. He spends the winter season here.”

Kevin let out a long shuddering breath. “Does he know? Does he know I’m back?”

“I don’t think so.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t tell him. That’s something the two of you are gonna have to figure out.”

The two of them fell into silence after that, both looking out of their respective windows. The mystery of it all was unbearable to Kevin. He wanted clear answers, definite truths. His heart could only take so much.

“Take the next street, Travis,” Teresa said to the chauffeur.

“Where we going?” Kevin asked.

“Back to my place. Thought you might like a home-cooked meal on your first night back.”

Teresa’s place was a skinny townhouse in Harlem squeezed between white brick apartments. There were potted plants on the brick steps, big and waxy green with flowers so vibrant they looked painted. Cuban and Puerto Rican flags swayed proudly above the front door, a sure sign that Teresa once lived there with Juan. As Kevin stepped into the apartment, Teresa commanded him to take off his shoes and make himself comfortable. Kevin obliged, kicking off his shoes and slipping off his coat and scarf before leaving them on the rack by the door. He set his bag down too, and marveled at the warmth of the house.

It was like he was back home in Miami. Everything there was authentically Teresa from the Black art on the walls to the incense burning to the multicolored beads that separated each room. The white leather furniture and thick shag carpets were hers too, and the wood carving sculptures and the pictures of she and Juan together, some with an unsmiling little boy and some not. He picked up one of these pictures, Juan and Teresa and the boy at South Pointe pier with ice creams melting in their hands. Kevin smiled down at the picture, felt a pang of pain in his heart, and set it back down.

Teresa called him from the kitchen and he came through, took a seat on one of her brass barstools. She fired up the gas stove with a lighter, turned to Kevin and asked if he wanted seafood paella.

“Sounds great.”

Kevin leaned forward on his elbows as he watched Teresa start their dinner. She darted from fridge to stove to cabinet to sink as she cooked, body moving in a blur as she went from cleaning shrimp to chopping onion. At some point, Kevin felt useless just sitting there so he got up and asked for something to do. Teresa handed him the knife and pointed him to the cabinet where she kept the spices, and he handled the chopping and dicing and seasoning while Teresa guided him through her recipe. A heavy blue cast iron pot was pulled out of a cabinet and filled with shellfish, andouille sausages and yellow rice. The smell of Adobo and Old Bay covered the kitchen, rinsing the tile with sea salt and paprika. The two of them made idle small talk while the food cooked, and once it was done Teresa spooned out healthy portions for them both, settling them down at the dining table with nice, cool bottles of beer.

“So, tell me how you’ve been,” Teresa started, popping open her bottle and then Kevin’s.

There was so much to say. Kevin poured himself out to Teresa, the court case, the years in prison for something so minor of holding a little weed. He told her about the few letters Samantha sent him, and the pictures of his son, and how it felt to see the whole world moving on without him.

“I felt like a non-person. Like I was just a thing.”

Teresa nodded. “I’m sorry. I wish there was more we could’ve done.”

Kevin shrugged, smiled. “Nothing to do. Just the hand I was dealt.”

“True. Seems like you got good at cooking while down there, though. They put you in the kitchen?”

“Yeah,” said Kevin nodding. “Shit. Before I was locked up I could barely boil no water, but now I’m full up with this shit. Recipes, food—one time I felt peaceful was when I had all that steam in my face.”

“I could tell.” Teresa spooned up some paella, chewed and swallowed. “You got good taste. _Almost_ as good as me.”

They talked for the remainder of the meal, conversation peppered with laughter and, occasionally, with tears. At the end, Teresa and Kevin stood side by side and washed the dishes.

“I just can’t believe that I’m here.” Kevin wiped a bowl dry, set it down on the dishmat. “Feels so unreal.”

“You better start believing it,” Teresa said. “This is your society. You belong in it. Them medals of ours _mean_ something. You just gotta find a place for yourself.”

“I ain’t even got a place to live, Teresa. How am I gonna find a place in nobility?”

“About that…” Teresa set some forks down into the soapy water, dried off her hands and turned to Kevin. “I’m thinking you can stay here this season. No use in you renting an apartment if you’re planning on going back to Florida after this, and hotels room are so expensive. I’ve got a whole empty suite upstairs. Bed and bath and everything.”

“For real?” Kevin couldn’t believe his luck! He smiled.

“I mean, only if you want to…”

“You don’t know how easy you just made things for me,” he said. “God, you heard me earlier, talking about sleeping in some motel. You sure I won’t be no inconvenience to you?”

“I’m sure,” said Teresa. “I ain’t got many house rules for you to follow. Just expect you to cook when you can, keep your room _sort_ of clean. A lady comes in to take care of the hard stuff on Tuesdays and Fridays, but your space is your responsibility out of that.”

Kevin nodded. Teresa took his arm and squeezed it. “You’re gonna be fine here. Sometimes I throw parties, but it’s real boring ‘round here ‘cept for that. I’m at work most of the time. Oh and, stay right there!”

Kevin watched Teresa leave the kitchen and disappear to another unseen room. It was a relief not thinking about where he was going to stay during the season. He finished drying the dishes, dried off his hands and started to wipe down the counters and stove,thinking still about Teresa’s generosity. It was almost too much, but he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Anything was better than the prison cell, than his small, nothing little apartment back in Miami.

When Teresa returned she came holding an envelope. “It’s from your mother. She asked me to hold onto it for if—when—you ever came back.”

Kevin took the envelope from her and thanked her. He wouldn’t read it in front of Teresa, a little uncomfortable at the idea of breaking down in tears again. He gave her a hug though, and asked where his rooms were. She led him up the stairs to the second floor and showed him a door to the right. She opened it, revealing a beige room with light, modern furniture including a king-sized bed, a couple of nightstands, some lamps, an armchair and a desk. On the bed was his bag, and to the left of the armchair were two doors—one for the closet, the other for the en suite bathroom.

“I’ll leave you for now,” Teresa said quietly. “Good night, Kevin. I’m glad you’re here.”

She was gone before Kevin had a chance to thank her. Alone in his new room, he came out of his heavy clothes and slipped into some sweats and a t-shirt from his bag. He unpacked, his meagre collection of clothes put into the closet or the wardrobe. He set his medals down on the dresser, plugged up his phone and fell, bouncing slightly, onto the high and lush bed. He sighed, relieved, relaxed after so long on hard beds and thin sheets.

After a second or so of making snow angels against the soft fabric of the blanket, Kevin sat up, found the envelope, opened it and began to examine the contents. The first thing he noticed was a thin stack of cash, just over three thousand dollars from his mother’s will and, falling into the palm of his hand after another little shake, his mother’s emerald brooch. He set these things aside and picked up the letter, the bulkiest item, and immediately recognized the writing, the spritz of perfume that puffed from the paper.

The letter was folded in threes, four pages long and written in his mother’s flowing script. At first, the letter appeared to be a run-of-the-mill check up. Daily events, some of the minor happenings in society but around page three it took a heart-wrenching turn for the sentimental. His mother said that she knew she would be dead by the time Kevin had the letter, and she already knew and understand that Kevin wouldn’t be there at her funeral. She praised him for his strength and perseverance, apologized for not being able to visit more often.

 _I love you, Kevin_ , she wrote. _And I’ll always love you. Through your mistakes and your flaws, through life and death. You have always been a knight at heart. Honorable and strong, bound by loyalty to the ones that love you most. With much love, Ma._

Setting the letter, cash and lease aside, Kevin crawled beneath the sheets of his new bed and allowed himself to cry. Weeping, sobbing, sniffling, Kevin let every painful feeling he felt to come rushing out, soaking his pillow. He missed his mom, missed his son though he’d only seen the boy a handful of times over the years. He missed having a family, missed knowing that people cared for him and wanted him and needed him.

When his sorrow settled, Kevin clicked off the light and closed his eyes. Within minutes he was asleep, the long day of travel giving him dreams of hot grills and buses full of almost-familiar faces watching him with dark brown eyes.

* * *

 

The next week and a half was hectic for Kevin. Teresa took him from place to place, bringing him to lawyer after lawyer to help him get settled. It wasn’t the kind of city he’d want to stay in forever, New York—it was loud and tiring, everyone moving too quickly. Only when he had signed a slip of paper that stated he was once and for all back in nobility could Kevin breathe again. Even then, he went home and confined himself to his room, anxiously looking over the paper for loopholes; tricks.

For years, Kevin dreamed of being back, yet when he returned he found that nothing was as he left it. After a decade of doing nothing but grinding, sleeping, waiting, he was tossed into a world that had changed its face completely. And stranger still, Kevin had no schedule to adhere to. In prison there was time for eating, time to sleeping, time to move and go and don’t let a guard catch you catching your breath. Outside, there was so much time and so many things to fill it with. It was overwhelming, this freedom; if he wanted, at any moment, he could go out of Teresa’s brownstone and walk down the street. He could call up old friends, see folks he hadn’t seen in forever. He could, if he dared, try to call Samantha and see about his son.

Somewhere in this midst of the chaos, Kevin found a day to be quiet and lay around his room. He was in the middle of a raunchy medieval romance, a nice change from the engineering books and ratty Harry Potter series from the prison library. Prince So-and-So was just about to kiss Princess Whats-Her-Face when there was a knock at his door.

Not lifting his eyes from his book, Kevin said, “Come in.”

It was Teresa unsurprisingly. Kevin could see that she’d been out, possible interviewing for a new position. She dug in her purse as she crossed over to where Kevin sat on his bed and when she removed her hand it was holding a creamy white envelope with a blood-red wax seal.

Kevin furrowed his brow and took the letter. “What’s this?”

“Invitation, I think,” said Teresa. For a moment it seemed as if she’d say more, mouth poised as it was, but she changed her mind, and started towards the door with a little goodbye and a promise to call him when dinner was ready.

Alone, Kevin looked over the letter. The envelope felt expensive, and the red wax was stamped with a rose in full bloom. There was no name on it save for his own, and the only address on the envelope was Teresa’s. He carefully pried it open with his fingers. A tri-folded sheet of paper and an R.S.V.P card awaited him.

Typed up in Copperplate was a formal invitation to a masquerade ball—the first of the season. It was to thrown two weeks from, on a Saturday evening. Kevin hummed thoughtfully, remarking inwardly that whoever was funding the ball must’ve been high up. He studied the paper for clues, took in the address and dress code, but learned nothing about the sender.

Kevin set the letter down on his cover. It would be nice to get out of the house. A big ball such as this was a great place to start to reintegrate himself. The only downside was the other nobles. All those sneering faces, new and old, who seemed to know everything about him but he in turn knew nothing about them. The politics, the people he’d have to meet and meet again, and then, most terrifyingly of all, _he_ could be there.

That small flame of excitement Kevin felt about getting back into society was doused in ice water. Strong as he was, Kevin knew he wouldn’t be able to bear it. It had been so long, even longer since his prison sentence, but there were wounds that not even time could heal. His time away worked wonders in healing his own broken heart, but what of the other heart? What of the boy he broke that day? Kevin’s chest pulled at the thought of that thoughtful face, those beseeching eyes that all but haunted him throughout the years.

But still, Kevin told himself, if he wanted to return, he’d have to return. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Kevin checked ‘yes’ for the R.S.V.P. His heart pounded as he handed the letter over to Teresa, and banged even harder when she gave it over to the mailman the next morning. It was out of his hands, but he wouldn’t be at peace. Not until the ball.

* * *

 

Come Saturday night, Kevin’s stomach was in knots.

It wasn’t _right_ for him to be there. He shouldn’t have shown his face. The discouraging words played on in a constant loop in Kevin’s mind, an echo chamber for his insecurities. He stood in the grand ballroom, the chandeliers and gay costumes overwhelming his senses. He felt nauseous, off-center. Wasn’t it just a month ago that he was in prison?

That was the draw of a masquerade ball, Kevin supposed. People came from far and wide to put on their false faces. They drank, they ate, they were merry. They played pretend, and behaved like children for a few hours. Painted masks were slipped over the faces of monsters and turned them into heroes. The greatest fool was king here, a master of wit and culture. Nobodies with barely a scrap of land to their name could be princes, princesses, dukes and duchesses. Hidden behind their clothes, everyone felt to lose their inhibitions and  toss their positions aside to become someone else. Earl into a cat, lady into a clown— a lowly knight into the jack of hearts.

“Or a jackass,” Kevin muttered to himself. Never before did he feel how low his rank was. Most of the people at these balls were lords and ladies, earls and royal peers. Compared to everyone else, Kevin’s knighthood felt like a suit of rags.

Not to mention, Kevin was broke. True, he was dressed up that night in his fancy black tailcoat jacket and pristine white collar, but he was a pauper. All he had to his name was the money Teresa gave him and what was left from his mother’s will. It wasn’t enough to last next few months, nevermind the entire season.

Kevin adjusted his red _colombina mezza_ on his face. It was decorated with white and silver hearts. The mask only covered his cheeks and eyes, a slim section of his nose. Someone could look straight through his disguise, down into his truest self. Slum kid, hood kid. He was still convinced that this was one very elaborate prank. Kevin waited impatiently for the vat of pig’s blood to be thrown over his head.

Kevin took in a sharp breath, and remembered Teresa’s words. If he was here, then he belonged here. Someone believed he had a place in high society. Yes, there were bigger, better men in this room, but wasn’t Kevin standing among them? Wasn’t tonight a party?

Kevin  pushed himself off the wall and into the thrumming crowd. He slipped on a winning smile and out came that persona of the charming, heartbreakingly handsome knight. The reaction was immediate. Quickly, Kevin accumulated a crowd of people around him. Most were nosy, pushing and prodding for answers about his disappearance. They all knew more than he was letting on, but he knew it was a test. See how honest he was, see how much he spilled — how much he was willing to lose.

Kevin told them a true but rose-colored version of his story. It was perfect for the crowd, just the right blend of scandal and triumph for them to latch onto. Though there were some narrowed eyes, some tuts and raised brows, he had most in the palm of his hand. Kevin spilled his guts and hundreds of Venetian masks laughed along with him.

After the talking and catching up came the dancing. Kevin was handed dance card after dance card. Man and woman alike came up to him, emboldened by their drinks and asked for a spin. Each dance ended with a bow, a respectful kiss to the hand and a well-practiced blush. Few times, he got some whispered statement in his ear, a lingering touch that was open to interpretation.

Kevin, ever the gentlemen, looked over their shoulders at their partners and escorts. He turned them down, respecting their virtues and reputations if not his own. They shuffled away with no mention of the slight. Only the red cheeks and lowered eyes offered insight into their embarrassment or anger.

Kevin never really played by the rules of chivalry. His time with Samantha and his son proved that well, but he knew he didn’t have much room for error. Everyone in the room was looking for a reason for him to fail. In the end, his reputation would look better for it. And yet, he ached to watch fine lords and ladies walk away from him, never to be touched.

Kevin took a break from the crowd and stood outside the dance floor. He laughed as he watched them dance. He was almost ignorant to the gentle touch of a hand at his elbow. Kevin turned slightly, mouth already opened to turn the stranger down. He stopped short and smiled down at the lady attached to the hand.

“You’ve been scarce,” said Kevin teasingly. He bowed and kissed the back of Teresa’s hand.

“I’ve been busy collecting cards,” she responded. “How are you liking the party?”

“It’s wonderful! I’m feelin’ poorer than usual though, standing next to you.”

Teresa sucked her teeth, rolled her eyes but she blushed. Kevin knew he was right. His costume was modest compared to her pastel and cream colored gown that slipped off her body like water. She wore a crown of flowers and a carried a bouquet of waterlilies. She told Kevin she was Persephone, queen of the underworld.

Understanding the intricacies, Kevin chuckled. Dark humored _and_ witty. What couldn’t this woman do?

Her eyes flashed good-naturedly. “I’m glad you think it’s funny. Some have ideas about my morals and sense of humor.”

“I’m sure your dance card is filled.”

Teresa took her card and waved it. “Want a spot? Could be your last chance...”

“No, thank you. My poor feet are worn out.”

Teresa smiled at him, sad and concerned. Worry was in her eyes when she said, “You earned this, Kevin. Somebody thought you belonged here. For tonight, everything is behind us.” Teresa touched his cheek gently. “This is a party! Smile!”

Kevin beamed for her, and in turn, Teresa gripped his arm and laughed. “There it is! Now, keep that on. Masquerade balls can have all sorts of familiar faces. I’d keep my eyes peeled if I were you.”

Prophecy or warning, Kevin couldn’t tell. He watched as Teresa disappeared into the throng of people. He found someone serving champagne and drank. Nobility couldn’t and shouldn’t become inebriated, but Kevin planned to come as close to it as possible. Kevin downed a few more glasses and a second lap around the room. More hands kissed, more whirlwind spins around the dance floor.

Near midnight, the ballroom began to swim and morph. People were forgetting themselves, all couth lost at the strike of twelve. Kevin half-walked, half-stumbled to the sidelines. He held an empty glass of champagne, questioning if he wanted to indulge in another. After some time of observing, Kevin became aware of a presence standing behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. The gooseflesh on his arms rose.

A smooth, deep voice spoke to him and said, “Wonderful party, ain’t I?”

Kevin faced the figure. They wore a pure white _bauta_ mask decorated with faint lines of pale gold. The jutting chin and slanting eyes matched the voice’s anonymity. The figure’s costume was beautiful and detailed. He wore a white and gold custom cutaway jacket with a pearlescent cloak affixed to his broad shoulders. A deep blue sash was slung across the costume and was lined with pins and medals. The hands of the stranger were not covered by gloves. Kevin understood that gloves of any kind might have distracted from the many rings the man wore, diamond and gold and a single opal.

Confused, Kevin said, “Yes, it is. It’s been a while since I’ve been in society. I forget how big these parties get.”

“And how long they drag on.”

“You don’t enjoy it?” Kevin asked, brow rising over his mask.

The man sighed, shifted his weight from foot to foot. “No, no, it’s all fun. Just not my idea of an evening well spent.”

“Oh?” Kevin’s neck prickled with sweat. “What’s an evening well spent for you?”

“Me and a good friend, good music and food —”

Kevin took a sharp breath. “Milord, I must interrupt you. I’m honor bound. No fooling around allowed.”

“Even for me?”

The man lifted a dark, ringed hand to remove the pearl and gold mask. The face, familiar and yet unfamiliar all at once, took the breath out of Kevin’s lungs.

“ _Chiron_.”

“Kevin.”

The ballroom was filled with people and song, clicking heels and clinking glasses. Jewelry twinkled and shone. People screamed with laughter, but Kevin saw and heard none of it. His entire world, his entire being, had become the short space between he and Chiron. Their eyes took in each other’s forms, cataloging the changes in each other’s faces. They locked eyes. Kevin felt drunk enough to collapse.

“You’re so…”

“You look…”

“ _Beautiful._ ”

Kevin removed his mask. Chiron, regal and splendorous in his costume, kept perfect eye contact with Kevin. It was a gift, a pleasure Kevin and only Kevin was given. He stepped in closer, edging Chiron to the walls of the ballroom. Chiron reached out to touch his face but stopped himself. He looked breathless. Kevin felt breathless.

“What happened to you? Where’ve you been? ”

“Didn’t you hear? My sentence?”

“Nobody told me anything. Been sealed off from everything important.”

“I’ve been in Miami.”

“Miami? We’ve been so …”

“ _Close_. I know. I heard you were in Atlanta.” Kevin, head pounding, said, “Teresa told me, but I couldn’t believe it. It’s been years; a decade since I’ve seen you.”

“Feels like centuries, doesn’t it?”

“A millennia.” Kevin swallowed thickly. His hands, he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “Chiron, your face. Your face — I hardly recognized you.”

“I would say the same for you, but you,” Chiron stopped, breathed. His eyes dipped then caught Kevin’s again. “I would know you blindfolded.”

It sent pangs to Kevin’s heart. Chiron took his silence and filled it. “What have you been doing? Lately, I mean.”

“Living, I’ve been staying with Teresa, trying to get shit together. Knighthood pays pennies.”

Chiron’s sweet eyes widened, less surprised and more amused. “You’re a _knight_? Since when?” He smiled, laughing. “Who knighted you? A jester? A fool?”

“A stand in for the king,” Kevin said, chuckling. “Don’t laugh. These medals are as real as anything.”

“Is that so?” Chiron teased.

“It is.” Kevin pushed his chest forward, showing off the medals and pins attached to his lapel. Chiron’s fingers hovered over the gold and silver pieces, just barely touching the precious metal. Did it hurt more or less that Chiron’s uncovered fingers didn’t touch his chest? Kevin’s mouth went dry. He placed the tips of his fingers on Chiron’s wrist.

Chiron’s eyes snapped to meet his. They were close, extremely close. Kevin could feel the well-made fabric of Chiron’s clothes and his body heat. His cologne, the smell of cinnamon and wine on his parted lips was headier than any drink. Chiron flicked out his tongue to wet his lips. Kevin’s eyes darted down to catch the movement.

“Chiron…”

“ _Kevin_.”

Chiron, God bless him, stepped away first.

The evening soldiered on, Kevin and Chiron enjoying the party side by side even though anxious, fretful energy passed between them. Voices and song rose and fell around them. He lost himself in those moments spent with Chiron against the elaborate, wood-paneled walls, gossiping like hens and clucking their tongues at the fashions. Kevin reveled in the way Chiron held himself, how he spoke, how his eyes flashed and shone at every charming thing Kevin said. Chiron’s laughter was rare but brilliant.  He tossed back his head and clapped his hands, a thunder song suited for the heavens.

Kevin watched the line of his throat, the way his ringed hands gesticulated and peppered stories with movement. He was, in a single word, enchanting.

A servant came around with a final call for drinks. They held out a plate of dessert wines and liquors, all housed in crystalline glasses. Kevin took two wines and nodded to the servant. Once the man was gone, he offered one glass to Chiron.

Chiron waved his hand. “I don’t drink.”

“Really?” Kevin tutted and said, “Well, you gonna drink tonight. It’s a celebration.”

“Hm.” Chiron took a tentative sniff at the dark, swirling wine. “What are we toastin’ to?”

“Old friends.”

“Missed connections?”

Kevin tipped his head and said, “Found threads.”

Both men raised their glasses and clinked them together. Kevin drank, watched out the corner of his eye as Chiron drank. Hypnotizing, swallowing throat, the eyes fluttering closed — Kevin’s breath caught. Chiron grimaced and handed the glass off to another passing servant.

“Other than trying to poison me, what have you been doing? Really, and don’t say living.”

“Honestly?” Those all-knowing eyes, those lips … “Absolutely nothing. I’ve been bored senseless.”

“Start of the new season must feel like a gift. Lots of trouble to get into, parties and galas and socials every week.” Chiron hummed. “It’s fun. All these new people, all this new shit. It’s nothing like when we were coming up.”

“Shoulder pads and the rented powder blue suits.” Kevin chuckled and burned when Chiron starting chuckling along with him. Said, “We looked ridiculous, but we loved it. We felt like … I don’t know, man, we felt like …”

“Like royalty,” Chiron finished for him.

The men smile. Chiron turns his eyes back to the dying party, and Kevin takes another sip of wine for courage.

“So how long are you here?” Kevin cleared his throat. “Just the social season or …?”

“Um, I think so. I gotta be back in Atlanta come spring. Duty calls and everything. Lands to rule, money to collect.” Looking pointedly at Kevin, he said, “Peasants to boss around.”

Kevin grabbed his heart in mock hurt. “Oh, that stings. You leave a nigga for two seconds and all of a sudden you’re a peasant. Them’s fightin’ words, Black.”

At the sound of the old nickname, Chiron blinked, tensed up and then relaxed. Kevin could tell it surprised him. It surprised Kevin too to feel that word leave his mouth.

“Damn shame you ain’t staying ‘round for longer.” Testing the waters, dipping just a toe in. “Where you staying?”

“My city house here in Manhattan. I’ve got some houses further up state in the country but it’s the apartment for now.” Chiron opened his mouth and closed it as if wary of his next few words. He settled on, “You should come by sometime. It’s a beautiful place.”

“You’re very kind.” Kevin’s mind flashed back to those six years in prison, cold concrete and miserable faces. It was jarring to think of then and now. The cold compared to Chiron’s warm eyes and high regard.

Just as he opened his mouth to say something, anything, Teresa strolled up to them holding her bag and cloak. She looked between the two of them, unsurprised but happy.

“I see you’ve found each other.”

“We did,” Chiron said. He canted his head towards Kevin and asked, “Was I the last to know that Kevin was a knight?”

“One of the last. He looks good, doesn’t he?” Teresa pressed.

Kevin and Chiron’s eyes flicked to each other. He saw how Chiron dipped his head, imagined the warm blush of his cheeks. Kevin could feel heat rising on his neck and cheeks too.

Swallowing thickly, Kevin said, “I think I’m being pulled away, Chiron.”

“You are.” She gave Chiron an apologetic look and squeezed Kevin’s forearm. “This young man is my ride home, and there’s not much more trouble I can get into.”

“At least let me walk y’all to your car,” Chiron offered. He extended his right arm for Teresa to take while Kevin walked closely to her left. They cut through the dwinding crowd, stopping only once or twice to give goodbyes. Their car, that sleek beast that took Kevin from the bus station, waited out front with Travis at the wheel.

Kevin pulled the car down open allowing Chiron to help Teresa into the backseat. Before he got into the car with her, Kevin turned to Chiron and stuck out his hand. The two of them clasped hands, hugged, electric waves zapping through Kevin as if he were caught on a live wire.

“Well, man, I guess I’ll be seeing you around. It’s been a pleasure to see you again,” Chiron said, all grace and elegance.

Kevn slipped into the backseat and through the rolled down window told Chiron, “We’ll have to talk again.”

“Next time we meet,” promised Chiron.

“Soon then. Non-stop parties this time of year Dinners galore.”

“Why not this Friday?” Teresa injected. She leaned forward in her seat and said, “I’m hosting a luncheon. Nothing fancy; just some gentry. The dress is semi-formal. You can make it to that, can’t you Chiron?”

Chiron nodded. Kevin looked down at his hands.

“Then it’s settled! I’ll call with more information tomorrow. Around three? We’ll see you this Friday, Chiron. We’ll watch for you.”

The car started, Travis pulling off before Kevin could process the words. Even while they drove through the darkened streets of New York, Kevin’s head spun. He had seen Chiron! For a second, only a millisecond in the river of time, but he had seen him. It must have been a dream. In no reality could he have met Chiron  little over a decade later, firm and even more beautiful than when they last met. In no waking moment could Chiron, who once looked at him with such icy apathy, be that man who smiled a megawatt smile and laughed with such power. If so, then what a funny apparition! What a wicked ghost to lay his spell over Kevin and then disappear into the night!

Only when they were closer to their side of town did Kevin behind to breathe again.

He slid his eyes over to Teresa and said, “That was a mean trick.”

“Oh?” She smiled softly. “You missed him. I wanted it to be a surprise”

Kevin didn’t speak. He did miss Chiron, desperately, and it was a surprise.  Just thinking of how the breath left him when he saw that face— He could still feel the cloud soft texture of Chiron’s skin against his fingertips, the smell of Chiron’s heady cologne. His breath went double time at the idea of Chiron placing that oil around his wrists, dabbing it at the pulse of his dark throat. Kevin slipped a hand under his suit jacket. His heart, bewitched, cursed, thumped wildly.


	2. you can fool anyone who ever knew you!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two letters, an important meeting and a luncheon!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh finally? The second chapter?

A couple of days went by and the initial thrill of the start of the season began to wear off. A schedule had been sent out detailing the highlights—the balls, galas and operas—and people contented themselves with filling their idle time with social calls and day jobs until the next big party.

Kevin, overwhelmed by that first burst of light and drink, was among that contented number. There wasn’t much for him to do and he didn’t know that many people living in New York. All Kevin had to look forward to was the luncheon Teresa was throwing that Friday. Just the thought of seeing Chiron against made Kevin smile, waves of excitement coursing through his body and making his head feel dizzy. He thought back to the night of the masquerade ball, the two of them brushing fingers. Next time he saw Chiron, Kevin would not be so coy.

It was Monday then, and Kevin and Teresa sat at breakfast with their mail piled up between them. There were three for Kevin; a thank you note for attending the ball, a formal call from a Dame Adele of Rhode Island requesting his presence at her house that Wednesday and a letter stamped personal. He penned a little note of his own to the host of the masquerade and then, after a meaningful glare from Teresa, wrote a letter of acceptance to the dame. He had little interested in the woman or this mysterious daughter of hers, but Teresa insisted she might be an interesting ally.

“And you don’t have the luxury of choice right now,” she said as she read over his reply. “You need all the help you can get.”

He supposed she was right. He took up the third and final letter as Teresa made off with their breakfast plates. As she wiped down the kitchen, Kevin looked over the envelope, the pale pink paper scented with some sort of formal perfume. He caught sight of the name of the sender, widened his eyes and smiled.

Before Teresa could ask, he told her, “It’s from Samantha!”

He opened the letter carefully and read, an amalgam of emotion surging through his body. Sadness was the primary feeling, then regret and guilt with splashes of nostalgia. Sam’s handwriting hadn’t changed in all that time. He could practically see the concentrated look she got on her face whenever she had to write something out, could hear her reading the letter aloud to him. Kevin imagined her stuttering, falling over her words in the sharp slashes that removed words and felt her nervous pauses in entire blacked out sections of writing. She was unsure of her footing, and it relaxed Kevin somehow, to know that he and Sam were both clueless about what to do next. When he finished the paper (two entire pages, written neatly but informally as an e-mail), he looked at the few pictures she sent of their son, brown-skinned and cheery, smiling toothily at the camera.

Samantha told Kevin that she caught wind of his release from prison and his comeback to society. She was up north for the winter season too, though she preferred to stay in Oak Bluffs, in a family house house far from the hustle and bustle of the city. Gently, she admonished him for not calling on her in the few weeks he’d been in New York and said that she’d love for Kevin to stop by and visit. It wouldn’t be anything extravagant, Sam promised. Just the three of them and a guest that Samantha desperately wanted him to meet.

Kevin read and re-read the letter then let Teresa read it too. As the minutes ticked by, his uncertainty mounted. It’d been three years since he last saw Samantha. He was three years into his sentence when she showed up to the prison with a toddler on her hip. According to Sam, she wasn’t supposed to be there—her parents forbade it but she was tired of others making decisions for her. With glass between them, Samantha told him tearfully how lonely she had been, how her parents sent her out of the country and tried to have their son taken away. It was only recently that she was able to wrest some control away from her family. The fact that she was in front of him then was proof of her own resilience. She lifted the boy up, pressed his fat little hand to the glass and introduced him, finally, to his son. 

The memory of the boy’s brown skin and big, brown eyes kept Kevin strong throughout the rest of his sentence. It kept him strong in Teresa’s kitchen too, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his beard. 

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Start by saying yes,” said Teresa. 

He shot a glare at her that went ignored. “We can’t just pick up like nothing happened.”

“I don’t think she’s expecting that from you.” She sat down across from Kevin and took one of his hands. “How old is Li’l Kev now? Six? Seven?”

“He was three when I met ‘im, so, yeah. He’s about six now.”

“I bet he’s excited to see you. Samantha sounds pretty excited too.” Kevin was quiet for a while, thinking, and Teresa gave him some space before adding, “I can’t make this decision for you, Kev. You gotta figure out on your own the kind of man you wanna be.”

Patting his hand, Teresa said, “How ‘bout you get out the house for a while? You’ve been cooped up for days on end—some fresh air might do you some good.”

“Yeah,” Kevin murmured. “Maybe.”

Satisfied with the answer she got or at least unwilling to push him further, Teresa left him alone. Kevin sat at the table for a while longer trying to order his thoughts. He’d been in the house for a while, and he hardly saw any of the city. It wouldn’t hurt to spend a few hours doing something other than staring at the Tv or flipping through Teresa’s extensive collection of Beverly Jenkins novels. Mind made up, Kevin showered, packed his laptop and charger (a welcome home gift from Teresa), texted Teresa that he’d be out of the house for a while (she was gone already, some interview about a governess position in Harlem) and took an Uber downtown.

Through a lot of wandering around and asking strangers for directions ( _not_ taken so well up north, he noticed), Kevin found a little café to sit in. A pretty barista took his order for green tea and a blueberry scone then left Kevin in his corner to poke at his computer. A lot had changed since he’d been away. Social media was totally different—back then there was only MySpace and the occasional fan forum. Nowadays there was a cult following of royalty that bordered on the obsessive. It wasn’t like how it was before when there were just tabloid magazines and TMZ or E! sticking cameras in your face. Now, a quick google search for any of the American nobility pulled up thousands of forums and fan sites. Entire youtube channels were devoted to the royalty family, and Twitters, and Instagrams. He spent nearly an hour watching drama channels, distractedly eating and drinking, somehow invested in the lives of people he barely knew.

It wouldn’t hurt, Kevin supposed, to put his toes into the social media pool. He went through the steps of making his own Instagram profile, starting with a selfie. He felt a little stupid posing in the quiet of the café, but his self-consciousness melted away at the sight of his smiling profile pic. His short description (‘Sir Kevin, knight’, combined with a sword emoji, a sparkle and a rainbow flag) felt as honest and open. He followed some other people of the gentry (Teresa, Samantha, some friends from high school) and built up an explore page of cooking videos and weird DIYs.

But, Kevin reminded himself, he came out for a reason. He thought about Samantha and Li’l Kev, and what Teresa said about choosing the type of the father he wanted to be. He knew he wanted to be better than his own daddy. The best way to do that was to actually show up for his son, be there for him with more than pictures and letters. Armed with a decision, Kevin drafted and sent off an email to Samantha, informal and friendly. She replied back seconds later (on Instagram) with a thumbs up emoji, a surefire sign the days of long letters being passed back and forth were over.

Later, after several more teas and pastries, Kevin went home. The Uber ride was comfortable; the only noise came from the cars around them and the gentle Latin music playing on the radio. The driver hummed along—Selena singing ‘Dreaming of You’, and Kevin smiled at the perfection of it. Surely that night, and all nights after, he’d dream of brown-faced boys with eyes like his.

* * *

That following Wednesday Kevin went to meet with Dame Adele and her daughter. They started off rockily, he and the dame tiptoeing around each other so as not offend. He drank her tea (weak, too sugary) and complimented her decor (ostentatious, obnoxious), and when she offered him a plate of finger sandwiches he took them even though he knew they’d be flavorless and dry.

Eventually the dame called for her daughter. Some noise came from upstairs—a shout and the clacking of heels. Kevin glanced at the dame expecting a reaction from her but she sat there as if she heard nothing, smiling tightly and wringing her hands.

“Is everything alright, ma’am?” Kevin asked.

“Perfectly fine!” Dame Adele shot up from her seat, smoothed down her skirt as an afterthought and started for the staircase. “If you’ll excuse me Sir Kevin, I’ll fetch Miss Madeline myself.”

He nodded and leaned into the hard sofa cushions as the dame disappeared up the stairs. The house was very still. Kevin imagined they didn’t see a lot of visitors, and that those who did come by left soon after. He rubbed his forefinger on a nearby end table and found it to be coated with dust. He grimaced, heard clacking heels on the stars, wiped his hand off on the sofa and straightened his back.

Madeline, eldest of the Fox family, stood at the base of the steps with her hands clutched tightly in front of her. She did not smile as her mother smile, and when she caught sight of Kevin, she stiffened even more.

Kevin rose from the sofa, bowed, gave Madeline’s hand a chaste kissed and then introduced himself. “Afternoon, Miss Madeline. My name is—”

“I know what your name is,” she said. “Sir Kevin Jones, yes?” Curt and a little poisonous, she snatched her hand from Kevin’s and sat in the armchair opposite her mother.

Clearing his throat, Kevin took his own seat too. From the relative safety of the chaise, Kevin observed the lady. She had a round face with pronounced cheek bones and a dimpled chin. Her skin was healthy if not a little blotchy and red from the cold weather; she tried to cover it with foundation, but Kevin could see through it easily, see the patches. Her lips, a soft shade of pink, were curved and nearly plush, though she pulled them into a sour lemon-suck expression. Her eyes were hazel but cold and piercing.

Miss Madeline held herself with care, as if everything around her was unclean and below her. She looked at Kevin with open disdain, scoffing at most of his conversation if not mocking him directly.

“Miss Madeline, I heard about your family’s flowers. The tulips?” Kevin started tentatively. “The Kennedy Flower Cup—that’s been in the Fox family a long time, hasn’t it?”

Madeline sniffed. “Yes, well, they are quite nice. It’s a shame really that we’ve lost these past few years to a dreadful bunch of people from Alabama. They grew carnations.” Crossing her legs, Madeline said, “They were store-bought.”

“Madeline, that’s not fair. The Gradys are very good people.” Dame Adele reached for her daughter’s knee but the young woman jerked herself away before contact could be made. For a moment, the dame was visibly hurt. She covered it quickly, turning to Kevin and saying, “They had all sorts of colors. Pink and yellow, blue and white. Their daughter, Holly Grady, did all the floral arrangements for our dining room.”

“I’m sure they’re lovely,” smiled Kevin, who couldn’t care less about white women and their flowers. He peeked at Madeline from the corner of his eye and caught her glancing at the window. Sensing him watching, she lifted up her head and scowled.

“It’s such nice weather out, Maddie! Maybe you’d like to take Sir Kevin out for a walk through our gardens, show him our flowers?”

Madeline raised an eyebrow, a brief and joyless smirk touching her lips. Sardonic, icy, Madeline asked Kevin, “Oh, _yes._ Wouldn’t you like to go for a stroll in the gardens?”

It was cold outside but not too cold for a walk. Kevin offered Madeline his overcoat but she declined it, almost angry at the idea of him giving it to her. As they walked, he couldn’t help thinking of Madeline as a viper, weaving her way through the trees and biting him at any chance she got.

In the greenhouse however, when she was surrounded by tulips, Madeline softened. She talked about the flowers affectionately as a child, stopping to run her manicured hands over the delicate petals. Row after row of tulips, crocus and buttercup filled just about every corner of the greenhouse. She told him that though they were lovely now, they were even better in spring, when the land was lush and fertile and the tulips were in full bloom. It wasn’t a brilliant inheritance what with its scrawny white birches and beeches, but it was hers and it was what she loved.

Madeline led him out of the hothouse and to an old English oak under which a white stone bench waited. Vines and weeds curled around its lion feet, dead flowers trampled on by shoes. Madeline sat and then Kevin, far enough apart so that at least an arm’s length was between them.

“Your tulips are very beautiful.”

“They’re all I have,” Madeline replied. A strong breeze shook down leaves and blow Madeline’s pale, blonde hair into her face. She waved the strands away with sadness in her eyes. “My sisters took everything else.”

“What do you mean?”

Madeline turned to him slightly. “Patricia gets the house, Nettie gets the money and all that’s left for me is the weeds. The stupid prize-winning weeds.” 

“I’m sorry,” said Kevin.

“I’m not. It’s not so bad considering. I’d be happy as a spinster if I didn’t have to live under my mother.”

“No one says you _have_ to be a spinster.”

Madeline laughed a loud and joyless laugh. “You don’t get it, do you? Sir Kevin, I’m not alone by choice. My mother has decided what sort of person she wants me to bring home.” She dipped her head and fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. “What kind of person she wants me to be.”

“And what kind of person is that?” Kevin asked though he supposed he already knew the answer. He saw the change wash over Madeline’s face, the quick changes from anger to fear to where she was at now, nervous acceptance. He watched her jaw work and her fingers clutch the fabric of her clothes. He remembered that face—the face he wore when he came out to his mother.

“I like girls, _okay_? I’m … I’m a lesbian.” 

She said it so fast, so breathlessly. Kevin resonated with that too. The first time he ever said the word ‘bisexual’ aloud made his mouth tingle and burn. It was more than a sin—it was a dirty word, hyper-sexual and private. Saying it to his mother, to his friends, was like cussing in church. 

He took a heavy breath and let it out slow. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Madeline jerked to him. “What do you _mean_ alright? I just came out to you! I’ve only come out to like—” And here she counted on her fingers, wiggled them in his face—“ _Four_ people! I haven’t even told my mother! _Alright?_ Are you out of your mind?”

“Hey, hey,” Kevin said, putting up his hands. “It’s whatever.”

“It’s _not_ whatever. What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing! It’s just, you know—it’s whatever.” He considered putting a hand on Madeline’s shoulder but thought better of it, remembering how she slipped away from him when they met and how coldly she reacted to her mother’s touch. “Look, it’s a big deal and I’m happy you felt comfortable enough to come out to me, but it’s also not a big deal either, you know?” Kevin could see that his words were doing nothing to softened the angry-terrified look on Madeline’s face so he shrugged and said, “I’m bisexual, Madeline. See? No storm clouds, no earthquake. It’s whatever.”

Madeline’s shoulders began to come down some. “You’re bi? Really?”

“Really really. It used to scare me a lot when I was in high school but now?” Kevin shrugged again. “I’m too old to be pretending I’m something I’m not.”

“So…so, you _won’t_ tell my mother?”

“What for? You said yourself you haven’t come out to her, and considering I _just_ came out to you, I don’t think it’s in either of our best interests for me to go airing out your business like that. We can chalk this whole thing up to experience, a’ight? No harm, no foul.”

Madeline looked at Kevin with teary, suspicious eyes. Her hands were trembling and her face was even redder than before but eventually she nodded. Kevin began to open his mouth to say something else to comfort her but she cut him off suddenly, saying—

“Actually, would you do me a huge favor?”

“What sort of favor?”

There she went again, though Kevin, working her jaw. She was turning something over in her head, trying to make sense of it so she could make it make sense to Kevin. 

“It’s nothing dangerous,” said Madeline. “And our agreement, I could find out a way to help you if you help me. Quid pro quo, I mean.”

“Madeline, what are you asking me to do?”

“It’s complicated, but I’m asking you to help me not be a spinster. I’m asking you to help me get to the woman I want, and I’ll help you settling into society.”

Kevin shook his head with a laugh. “I don’t need no help settling into society. Teresa is plenty enough help for me.”

“Okay, so not that then. What do you want? Money? Allies?” She looked at him carefully then said, “Love?”

Kevin scoffed. “You couldn’t get me my love.”

“What’re they like?” Madeline asked, head canted, eyes all open and eager. 

He rolled his eyes at her but he thought of Chiron too. He never had to describe Chiron to anybody. Everyone knew him already or, at least, knew their version of him. Having this stranger by his side to hear of him for the first time through Kevin’s eyes was daunting.

“ _He’s_ really kind and beautiful. He’s changed a lot since I last saw him but he’s the same too. Barely speaks, barely looks at anybody. Still has that spirit inside him that makes him all blue and purple.” Kevin laughed a little. “His heart—all this time and I can still remember the feel of his heart, his pulse against my hand.”

Kevin closed his eyes then, memory taking him back to that beach. He could feel the ocean breeze against his skin, the smell of saltwater and fresh air. He could feel Chiron too, feel his gaze and uneven breathing, feel his excitement and his love. His heart swole in his chest. He could’ve cried.

Carefully so as not to jerk Kevin from his reverie, Madeline murmured, “That’s how I feel about my girl. She’s _the_ most gorgeous, amazing, fantastic woman on this earth, and I can’t have her because of my father’s will and my mother’s rules. We can help each other, Kevin.” She slipped off from the stone bench and kneeled in front of Kevin, holding his hands softly. “Please?”

Two hours ago, Kevin would’ve turned Madeline down completely. He would’ve saw her as she presented herself, cold and callous, completely unlikeable. But now he saw a friend, someone who loved like he did and somehow who was hurting. He looked into her eyes and saw all of the desperation in them. She let herself be _known_. She didn’t have to give him so much but she did, and to ruin everything now wouldn’t be fair to either of them. Now he did put a hand on Madeline’s shoulder. 

“I’ll do it.”

 

* * *

 

 

At home that evening, Teresa pried him for details about the meeting with the dame and her daughter. Kevin told her all he could spare, leaving out Madeline’s confession and their secret plot. After a quiet dinner and shower, Kevin went up to his room and glued himself to his cellphone, waiting impatiently for Madeline’s call.

They had exchanged numbers before he left their manor, he and Madeline. They agreed it was best if the people around them thought that they were dating. Madeline told him that she’d call as soon as she could and that he should stay by the phone just in case. The phone rang a little after ten, the LED screen of Kevin’s cell glowing blue in the dark of his bedroom. Kevin shot up straight, snatched his phone off the nightstand and answered.

“Madeline!”

“Good, you’re awake! I thought you might’ve fallen asleep,” she said, her voice all low and whispery. “I thought about our deal in the garden—who’s this man of yours? Is his noble?”

Kevin leaned back against the headboard. He didn’t know if Chiron was nobilityand he told her as much. “He’s just Chiron to me. Always has been.”

There was noise over the line as Madeline shifted wherever she was. “Wait…Chiron? As in Chiron Harris?”

“Yeah?”

“Holy shit! Kevin, you’re in love with _Duke_ Chiron Harris?”

“A duke?” Kevin’s heart began to race. “He’s a duke now?”

“I mean, yeah! Jesus, he’s just about _the_ richest man in all of Atlanta. That’s his duchy! He practically _owns_ Atlanta and most East Point.” She whistled. “ _Woof_. It’s gonna be tough getting you to him.”

No kidding. It explained a lot about how Chiron looked though, all that jewelry and those expensive clothes. Teresa did say that the recession changed a lot of things for a lot of people. He never imagined it could turn his blue boy into a royal peer, chest gleaming with medals. Yesterday being with Chiron didn’t seem so hard. He was his oldest friend, someone he knew from way back when. Today in the purple-dark of his bedroom suite, he saw all that he was missing, all that he didn’t have. Who was he kidding? How could he compare? Chiron probably had rivers of men chasing after them, most of them more qualified and more successful than he. Kevin felt his heart sinking down into his feet. He groaned.

“I’m seeing him on Friday,” he told Madeline. “Teresa’s throwing a luncheon but—duke? Shit, he won’t even look at me that way.” 

“No kidding,” said Madeline. “He’s so many ranks above you. He’s practically _royalty_ at this point. Jeez.” She blew out a rough puff of air making the static of the phone go crazy. “Well, actually, there is something…”

“Hm?”

But Madeline didn’t say anything back for a while, just muttered over the line. “I’m gonna send something to you. It’s what? Wednesday? Give me until Friday morning and I’ll have something for you, okay?”

“The luncheon’s that afternoon though…”

“Yeah! It’ll be fine, I swear. Now about _your_ end of the bargain…”

* * *

 

Madeline’s ‘something’ was delivered first thing Friday morning by a tired-eyed postman. He thanked the man generously, tipped, then brought his package to his bedroom. There were only things inside the yellow envelope—a card reading ‘ TO THE COUNT; A CORONATION GIFT ’ and a small black ring box of crushed velvet. A coronation gift? Kevin knitted his brows and turned the card over in hopes of finding more information but found nothing. Intrigued, Kevin opened the ring box. Gasped at what he saw inside.

It was a signet ring, solid gold and decorated with a single orange blossom on the ring’s round face. The ring was heavy in his hand, gorgeous and shiny. Kevin wondered where Madeline found someone to engrave it so quick, or if she had a mountain of engraved rings at her disposal. He slipped it onto his pinky finger and put his hand out to observe the gold against his brown skin. 

For a while Kevin kept the ring on his finger, admiring it, languishing in the beauty of having such a fine piece of jewelry on his hand. He looked at Madeline’s card again, read it over. Back and forth he went between the ring and the card; it came to him suddenly, what Madeline intended for him to do. He yanked the ring off his finger roughly and threw it down on his bed as if scalded by the metal.

But he _wouldn’t_! There was so much Kevin was willing to do to be with Chiron but lying was not one of them. Hadn’t he gone to Madeline that day with his heart on his sleeve, open and willing? Hadn’t he shown himself to be honest above all things? How could she even _think_ of this! Kevin glanced at the ring. It was one thing to step back into society after years in prison and fake as if nothing happened. It was an entirely different animal to take on this false role, to play this game of masks. And besides, all their lives Chiron and Kevin had been real with each other. They met each other’s eyes, they told the truth even when it killed them inwardly. To change that now over something so silly as a title—Kevin jerked his head away from the ring and stormed out of his room to prepare.

As he showered and dressed, Kevin could hear the noise of caterers and servants coming through. In just a few hours, Teresa’s house would be overflowing with low nobility, everyone pushing and showing to see what he was up to. Though Teresa protested, Kevin knew that the point of this party was a formal re-introduction for him, a chance to make a decent first (second?) impression on them. 

Kevin checked himself out in the mirror. He didn’t look bad, he supposed. The casual checked suit and the nice shoes along with his watch with the worn wristband left something to be desired. His wardrobe was paltry; pitiable. Staring himself down, Kevin felt every one of his inadequacies. Who was he kidding? He didn’t look royal, didn’t look worthy. He looked like a rough-handed knight from the inner city, badly bred and utterly contemptible. Kevin wore a frown on his face as he pulled at the hem of his suit jacket. Was this _really_ the best he could do.

His mind answered no, and without thinking Kevin was walking to his bed and picking the signet ring up from the duvet. It was just metal, just a few words spoken, but he knew it would change things for him forever. Kevin could not lie. He couldn’t bear to be without Chiron either. He slipped the ring back onto his pinky finger, the weight horrible and accusing against his skin.

Teresa came to fetch him soon after, bringing him downstairs to socialize while she greeted the first few guests. Kevin talked to some faces that he recognized and introduce himself to the ones he didn’t. Some people made comments about the ring on his finger and Kevin laughed it off, teasing at the change in title but not saying anything, lest someone try to prove him wrong. Mostly Kevin waited. He waited for Chiron to come breezing in through the door, waited to see Chiron and tell him that he was important enough, good enough for him. He wanted for Chiron to see the ring on his finger, hear the word ‘count’ and fall into his arms. 

He clenched and unclenched his fist, head pounding and heart racing. There were too many people in the room, too many people looking at him, watching how he drank and picked at finger foods and kept so quietly to himself. He was only able to calm down when Teresa flitted by, touched a hand to his elbow and told him to relax.

“I know you waitin’ to see him,” she murmured lowly. “He’ll be here. Stop worryin’.”

“Easy to say.” Kevin took another sip of wine. “Not so easy to do.”

Teresa raised her brow at him then disappeared into her luncheon. Kevin fell back against the wallpapered wall and took deep, steadying breaths. The couple to the right of him were arguing about something, cryptocurrency or whatever; the set to the left were gossiping about one of the younger ladies who came in—their words, not his—“dressed like a French tart”. He couldn’t stand it. Everyone was moving and talking like nothing at all was happening. Kevin thought the feeling in his head must’ve been the feel of the entire world shaking beneath his feet and yet no one else seemed to notice. Kevin sat down his glass. If he was going to be undone, he would be undone by something stronger than dessert wine.

Slipping through the crowd of nobility, Kevin made his way to the liquor cabinet hidden away in the butler’s pantry. The kitchen staff gave him only a quick look before returning to their jobs, apparently not paid enough to care if a lord or lady slipped in to nip something from the cabinets. He groped through the cabinets, clashing and clambering, until he got his hands on a half-empty bottle of Plymouth. He thanked Teresa and her bougie tastes, removed the top and took a few slow sips.

This? This was good. Kevin loosened his tie, slid down to the floor and leaned against the dark wood of cabinets. He could think a little better without the clamor of so many voices. Surely this wasn’t the way a count behaved but he wasn’t Kevin the count right now. He was Kevin the knight, terrified and a little tired and on his way to becoming hopelessly drunk. So caught up was he in his drink, that he barely noticed the clack of footsteps approaching.

“Now that’s not very gentlemanly.”

Kevin choked on the gin, some of it spilling out from his mouth. He caught himself, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then lifted his head. Of course! Just as he was going to pieces, there was Chiron. He light shone ten-thousand fold in the slim butler’s pantry, and though he stood a few feet apart from Kevin, the smell of his musky, sweet cologne was enough make him swoon. Chiron regarded him quietly, impassively, eyes reaching down into Kevin’s core.

Coughing, Kevin said, “‘m not in the mood to be a gentleman.”

“I don’t think counts get a day off,” responded Chiron. Kevin tensed as he came off the floor—he hoped Chiron wouldn’t notice.

“Who told you?”

“Some viscountess. Lady Yara?” When Kevin gave no sign of recognition, Chiron pressed on and said, “It’s a’ight! She nosy as hell. I’m jus’ upset I didn’t hear it from you first.” He tipped his head quizzically. “You said you was a knight.”

“Ah, well…” And here Kevin had to turn his eyes away from Chiron. He closed his eyes and shrugged. “Well it didn’t feel right to say it at the ball; not everything was set in stone yet.”

Chiron, bless him, seemed to take his word for it. The two of them stood awkwardly in the short space of the pantry until Chiron asked him, “You okay? What you doin’ in here?”

“Drinkin’,” said Kevin. He cleared his throat and brought his gaze back to Chiron. “Tryin’ to not get caught drinkin’.”

“Fucked up on that one.”

“Man, shut up! Ain’t you got some nobility to woo?”

“Ion’t like doin’ all that wooin’. Not my style.” He stood close to Kevin but stopped before he could cross into his personal space. Hesitation was written on his face, his hands, the way he held his body like he was tied back with binding ropes. And for what? To avoid making mistakes, to avoid touching?

To avoid touchin’ me, thought Kevin, and the thought gave him such a surge of power that he forgot the lie and the gin and the rules of his station. What use was liquor when he could spoil himself on the thrill of making Chiron hesitant and antsy. This prim thing in front of him, this famous duke who ran in circles filled with gold and jewels upon his imagining, could lose himself to someone like Kevin. And if Chiron was weak in the knees the night of the ball when standing beside the knight, he would be sick with love when standing with a count. Breathless and hungry, Kevin’s eyes darted around Chiron’s face. It would be nice to cut those ropes. Release him from those binds.

“You should go back to the party,” said Kevin. “I only came in here to take a breather.”

“People giving you a hard time?”

Kevin didn’t answer. He only set the bottle of gin back where it belonged and shrugged his shoulders. “It is what it is.”

“It shouldn’t be. I’m sorry if it’s ruinin’ the party for you.”

Again he shrugged. “Current company’s nice.”

The expression that danced across Chiron’s face was indescribable but it was replaced, quickly, by that pure openness that Kevin knew only he was privy to. He blinked. Swallowed. “If you like, you can come back with me. People don’t fuck with me.”

“I know,” laughed Kevin. “Mr. Royal Peer, Mr. Duke. Were _you_ ever gon’ tell _me_?”

“Yup. Right when you tried to sneak into my shit and they blocked your dragon-slayin’ ass at the door.”

“Ay, ay, _former_ dragon-slayin’ ass!”

They laughed, easy and loud and boisterous. Chiron was near enough to let his hands hover Kevin’s. His body heat, the strength of his cologne made Kevin’s head spin. Their eye’s met, an undeniable cord of heat and electricitypassing between them, warming them down to their very bones. Emboldened by his drink and the fancy fake title, he ran his index finger along the side of Chiron’s. Chiron’s sharp intake of breath went straight to his belly and lower, but before Kevin could make another move Chiron stepped back.

He cleared his throat and checked his watch so as not to look directly at Kevin. “Teresa will have lunch out soon. You should sit by me.”

“You sure?” Kevin stepped in smoothly, almostbut not quite chasing Chiron to the walls of the alcove. He kept his hands behind his back, nervous of what his free hands might do. “People might not like that.”

“I don’t care what people like,” Chiron snapped. Coals blazed in his dark eyes, his breathing hot and heavy. “You sit next to _me_.”

There was something in the way that Chiron said those words so sharp and commanding. Chiron ain’t never been soft (twice he’d shown him, twice he saw Chiron’s fire) but he never knew the man to be so ferocious. He leaned into the strength in the man’s voice and did as he was told. Though people watched and gossiped, Kevin couldn’t bring himself to feel even a modicum of self-consciousness. He was there wasn’t he? Beside Chiron, jacket sleeves brushing, exchanging quick glances before smiling elsewhere. That was a win in his books.

And yet, even with all this joy, Kevin couldn’t _really_ enjoy it. It wasn’t right, this game he was playing. Every time Chiron called him ‘Count Kevin’, his heart pounded in his chest. Somebody would figure it out, somebody would see that he was lying. He could only hope he had Chiron in his heart by then and that the truth wouldn’t kill if there was a cushion of love to soften the blow. 


End file.
